


going, going, but never gone

by wisteria (orphan_account)



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: College AU, M/M, mentions of child abuse, okay it's a college AU with not really that much college
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2012-07-23
Packaged: 2017-11-10 13:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/wisteria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki knew, deep down, that he would see his brother again. </p>
<p>He thought, perhaps, that it would be at his father’s funeral, or remarriage. Perchance it’d be at Thor’s wedding, or Thor’s something, Thor, Thor, so wonderful, “oh, Thor”; so perfect, Thor, Thor, Thor.</p>
<p>He did not, however, expect it to be at a university in New York.</p>
            </blockquote>





	going, going, but never gone

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don’t write Thorki that often, so apologies if you find something is off—also, this can be… Angsty during parts? Child abuse is touched upon more than once, and if this is a trigger/squick for you, please proceed with caution. 
> 
> Also: the background pairings are hardly that, even! {Must you know, it's only Steve/Tony and Clint/Natasha.}
> 
> I'm also not so sure if I like how this turned out, so I may edit it soon; this story is betaless as well.

Loki knew, deep down, that he would see his brother again.

He thought, perhaps, that it would be at his father’s funeral, or remarriage. Perchance it’d be at Thor’s wedding, or Thor’s something, Thor, Thor, so wonderful, “oh, Thor”; so perfect.

He did not, however, expect it to be at a university in New York.

Loki thought he’d be safe there, far enough away from Thor and his father. After the divorce, Loki and his mother had stayed in Europe, while Odin fled to the states with Thor; they had gone to California, or Nevada, or something _not near New York at all._

It would also be his luck that Frigga, his “mother”, would find out and put them in the same apartment. All without telling Loki a word—how she managed to hide it he had no clue, but she’s hidden darker things, darker thoughts and arguments and darker bruises.

It was a spectacular surprise to see Thor after eleven years, sitting, waiting with a wide smile in the flat.

“Loki!” He shouted it so loudly everyone in the hall turned to look. Some giggled, some just looked away as Thor drew him in for a large, bear hug; Thor was so large he could nearly fold Loki into himself, tuck him away not to be seen. Loki supposed it’d be better—and warmer—than hanging around in Thor’s shadow.

“Ah, hello, brother,” it was all he could choke out, because he was not prepared for this; he had spent the last eleven years trying to villainize Thor, but he found it impossible. Thor had loved him, Thor really and honestly had, but what was Loki to do? He had ruined enough, he had burned bridges and burned love, burned hope and burned the stars at night. He burned everything he touched, he burned friendships and he burned innocence.

“Is that all you have to say, Loki?” It was playful and Thor was still flashing his teeth, and his cheeks were flushed all the way up to his bottom lashes. He was overjoyed. It made Loki’s stomach churn.

“I am just… Very and honestly surprised, that’s all.” He smiled weakly, and Thor caught it (he always could); Thor’s face furrowed and he grabbed Loki’s shoulders, steering him to the couch in the corner near the window.

“Loki, perhaps you need to rest. You do not seem to be yourself.”

Frigga, who had been nearly silent for the move-in, spoke up. “Yes, he’s had a long day and an even longer trip.” She walked to where Loki was sitting, eyes drawn to the floor. “Loki, I am going to leave soon. I do not wish to be here when Odin arrives—please, promise me you will stay near Thor? I know it hurts, but—”

“But you mustn’t endanger yourself, correct. Be off, Frigga, or you will miss your flight. Much thanks for the trip, for the help. I will be in contact with you soon, I can assure you.” It was whispered, but it had the impact of a shout. Loki couldn’t remember when he had stopped calling Frigga “mother”; he couldn’t recall if it was before or after he learned of his adoption; if it was before or after he stopped calling Odin anything besides “demonic”.  Loki knew it didn’t matter, but he had to make milestones in his life something other than bruises, scars, than names called in the dead of night; than the different labels of the glass bottles, of the colors they made when they had red strewn across them.

He shook his head, but the thoughts didn’t clear, and they never would.

Frigga turned on her heel. “Very well. Keep your health, Loki. Remember to eat.”

She said her goodbyes to Thor, and kissed him on the cheek before fleeing. Thor did not notice the stagnant conversation Loki had with Frigga, and sometimes, Loki was thankful that Thor could be dense.

“Thor,” Loki started, slow and steady, to keep his voice from hitching. “I cannot be here when—when Odin is present. I am going to step out, and I will return later, when I am sure he will be absent.”

Thor’s face crumped, blond brows scrunching, lips pursing; he shook his head slowly, for he did not understand, he was never filled in on the details of the divorce. The most he had gotten was “it just isn’t working between me and your mother”.

“Be safe, Loki. It was nice to see you, it is nice to see you. Please, do not keep yourself out too late; Odin will not stay long, he never will, I will make sure, if that is your wish.”

And that—that right there—is why Loki could never paint Thor as a villain. Because he cared, and he did not need a reason to care. Because he would not ask questions, he would not need an explanation to keep someone at bay, anything at bay. As much as it pained him, Loki could never hate Thor. He could hate the things Thor did sometimes, or the things he said, or the things he left unsaid, but he couldn’t hate who Thor was.

Loki did not say anything as he left, he did not grab a coat, or money; his phone was jammed into his pocket, but its battery had bled dry hours ago. He didn’t know the city, and he didn’t care. His number one priority was to leave, to get out—he would go back when he was ready, if ever.

(Going.)

_____________________________

It took all of Thor’s strength not to look for Loki that night.

Or the next night.

But Thor felt he would’ve looked foolish, as Loki came back the third night.

Each bruise on Loki’s face felt like a slice on his back, but Loki refused to speak of them; he only promised that he held his own, and that they’d soon heal, and that, yes, he was fine, and yes, he wasn’t going to leave like that again, and yes, he was happy to see Thor.

_____________________________

Eventually, they settled into some sort of routine.

It mainly included Loki avoiding Thor as best as he could; he slipped into a nocturnal schedule, and he began to miss many of his classes, but he didn’t mind. He wasn’t at the college for an education, he was there for an escape, and he hadn’t gotten it. So the night, the deep sky and the twinkling stars became his escape, was where he hid. New York lived up to its name (not “the big apple”, mind you)—there was plenty for him to do at night, people for him to see and talk to, should he feel so desperate for human contact.

Sure, he got in his fair share of fights, but just because he was small didn’t mean he wasn’t strong. He was elusive, and sly, like a feline stalking pray; like a feline in the heat of a battle. He never retracted his claws.

Thor learned that if he saw Loki with bruises, he was not to say anything, as it would result in Loki leaving again. Thor never slept when Loki was absent, for he did not want to miss a phone call—what if Loki needed him, needed help? He had never asked Thor before, but there was a first time for everything.

One day, there was a thick shatter from the kitchen; it was deep in the night, or early in the morning. Thor had been awake, sitting in his room, waiting for Loki’s return. He always waited.

“Loki, is that you? Have you returned—is everything well?” He shot up from his bed, ignoring Loki’s fragrant protests (‘Thor, it’s fine, please, don’t—don’t come, Thor, it’s only a dish’). His large feet padded into the kitchen, which was small and clobbered with both dirty and clean dishes and with fresh and rotten food. Neither Thor nor Loki were adamant cleaners, or washers, and they didn’t have enough money to purchase a dishwasher to fill the hole that was left for one.

Thor expected to see Loki with a broken window, a broken anything, but not a dish. He did not expect Loki to be telling the truth; clearly, it was not all truthful, for it all was not fine. Loki was huddled around the broken glass on the floor, which was mixed with milk and cereal and blood, blood from his hands.

In the haste, he had tried to clean the broken dish with his bare hands; he had tried to hide it in the corner as well, and his face was sticky, gummy, from tears.

“Thor,” he said, voice shaking and broken, so full of emotions and so unlike the coolness it usually possessed that Thor nearly called him out as an intruder. “Thor, please—I did not mean to break the bowl, please do not—do not hurt me, I will… I will replace it immediately,” his speech was formal and precise, but it was all washed away by the thick swallows that came in between words, and the constant fluttering of his eyes, from the dish, to his hands, to Thor, and then to nothing, as he scrunched them closed.

“Loki,” Thor said calmly, taking a gentle step forward, aware of the boundaries—the ones he was perfectly willingly to break. “Loki, I could never harm you for a mistake. You do not need to replace the plate, and you need not try to clean it up so hastily. I will always be willing to help you, Loki. Now wait here, please. I am going to get the first-aid kit; do not move a muscle, Loki—it is okay to accept help.”

Loki did not move, but he also did not open his eyes, even as Thor lifted him to the couch. “You are going to get the couch dirty.”

Thor made a noise akin to “who cares” and Loki felt it was safe to open his eyes, because he wasn’t going to be hurt. Thor began to slowly, slowly cleanse Loki’s hands; he plucked shards of glass and wiped off blood, he bandaged cuts and held Loki’s hands long after he had finished.

“Tell me, tell me one thing, if you are to be truthful with any words you say to me, Loki, tell me why you thought I was going to punish you—why you thought I was going to hurt you. It is simple, and it is the only truthful answer I beg you for. Please, Loki. What have I done to make you… To…”

“Do not speak, Thor, until I have finished. I will tell you, for you never figured out. For our family’s secrets run deep and long, like Cleopatra’s winged eyelids…”

And so he told Thor, he told Thor everything, everything he knew, everything he was told, and everything he figured out.

He told Thor that he was never bullied physically in school, that the bruises were put there by someone in the house, by someone close and dear to Thor. He told him that when he would come home late from school, it was not because he was being beat up, but because he was fearful to return. He told Thor he was sorry, he told Thor that he wasn’t sorry. He told Thor that Frigga loved Odin when he left him, when she forced him out; that it was Loki’s fault that the family was split, that Thor grew up without his mother.  

He told Thor that maybe, if he had learned to hide is bruises better, Frigga wouldn’t have found out.

He told Thor that he would forever feel guilty for intruding on what could have been a perfect family; for intruding on what could have been Thor’s perfect life.

“Why would you never tell me this, Loki? Even then?”

“Because,” he started, slowly inching away, distancing himself. “I always thought it would be unjust to hurt the only one who loved me, or for me to hurt the only one I loved.”

Thor moved closer, hand outstretched, but Loki was off of the couch and reaching for his jacket. “Loki, mother loves you.”

“No, Thor. Frigga loved children—not me, but I was a child, and she had to save me, for it was her duty. She loves you, and she loves Odin, but to her, I am only Loki. And to me, she is only Frigga.”

“Please don’t go out again tonight, Loki,” Thor’s voice was withered and weak, hardly above a whisper—it was defeated, it was worn. “Please.”

As Loki stepped out of the door, he did not think of how much it hurt him to leave Thor, to leave him confused and dazed. He did not think of it on the way down the stairs, or when the cold air hit him, or when a lightning bolt shattered the picturesque gleam of the sky. He did not think of it even as he sat outside of the apartment building, staring at Thor’s bedroom light. It did not go out, not even when Thor’s first class began; it did not go out even when Thor came outside and gathered Loki in his arms.

It only went out when Thor placed Loki on his bed, under the sheets that were covered in lightning bolts, sheltered him with a blanket, pressed a kiss on his forehead, and whispered “you will forever be safe with me, Loki”.

_____________________________

Loki heard a thick bang on the door, but it had not been laid there by a hand.

He was ultimately cautious, even though he knew it had to be Thor; he’d never stay out for more than a few hours at a time, ever since he found out about… Everything. Loki found it redundant and ridiculous, because there wasn’t a point to it at all: it was all in the past, folded and neat like a newspaper, but soggy, like one trapped under feet of snow. Always uncovered when it was too late to be informative, or helpful.

He still crept, though, because there’s always a margin of the unexpected; he slowly drew his eye up to the peep hole, but he was swift to bring it back down. A feeling of regret and fierce anger coiled in his gut, like a demon swelling, and he knew it was only a matter of time until it escaped through his lips, through his eyes.

There was another thump on the door, this time more delicate, less drunken, and it was certainly the woman’s; he could clearly imagine the scene, Thor’s large hands sliding up and down her back, his mouth hot on hers, so desperate she must be, Loki thinks. She must be desperate, for Thor can’t really love her, he reckons; it has to be a charity case, for the “greater good”. He cannot love her wholly, he cannot love her like a lover.

Now, he sees Thor pull away, and gaze into her eyes with a soft fondness, with pure and complete adoration. With large blue eyes, truthful pools wading with lust, with want, with passion, with alcohol. He clasps his eyes tighter, as if it could block out the images his mind flashes at him.

The doorknob begins to twist, but it is inebriated and sloppy; he can hear Thor trying to stab the key into the lock, he can hear Thor cursing under his breath, he can hear the woman’s hitched breaths, he can hear her chants, her “hurry, Thor,”, so lucid, so thick, so heated.

By now it feels like charcoal is gauging up his throat, trying to climb like the devil from hell, through fits of rocks and dirt. Loki’s back is pressed to the door, and he figures he’s in the same position as the woman; arms splayed, eyes dull, but wide, pupils blown; mouths lopsided, one red from kissing, one red from teeth sinking, from teeth nervously ticking.

Loki flies away from the door as soon as he hears the key slip into the lock, even though he knows it will be another long string of expletives until Thor actually unlocks the door. His heart is thumping, thumping, and his face is numb—it feels like it’s under inches upon inches of ice, his skin feels like it’s turning blue, he feels like frostbite, he feels so stretched and so worn that maybe, perhaps, this will be what puts him under.

“A-ah, Loki—! I was expecting you to be, to be slumbering, certainly, at this time!” Thor drunkenly stumbled in, the girl trailing, fingers entwined like teenage lovers.

“I was just leaving, Thor.” It was so calm, so concise, and so normal that Loki surprised himself. “Please, allow your lady friend to take my room. I won’t be back for a long while.”

“No, Loki,” Thor’s voice was stern, but tangled with drunkenness, and it lost volumes of impact. “Loki, do not go.”

But it was too late, because Loki had already slipped out of the door; like boiling water through fingers, he had already left a mark, left singeing hot stains.  It brought him no satisfaction that he killed Thor’s good time, but he had always been the snow to Thor’s thunderstorm, the rain on Thor’s sunny day.

This time, he went farther than outside of the apartment building.

(Going.)

_____________________________

Thor knew better than to worry, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t worry, and it didn’t mean he wasn’t.

It was the longest Loki had ever been gone, and it was worse than when they had been separated by the divorce; at least then he knew Loki was fine, at least he knew Loki was safe.

But, Thor wondered, had he ever been safe?

As per usual, Thor did not sleep, but he could not do anything, anything but think, think about how he failed Loki when they were children.

Thor vested that he would never fail again.

_____________________________

“Loki, it’s me, Thor. Please answer your phone. It has been too long, too many nights have gone by, and I worry for you. Return Soon.”

_____________________________

“It’s Thor. You still have not returned. Please, tell me you are well? Tell me you breathe, Loki.”

_____________________________

“Loki, you’re very important to me. You always have been. Do not leave me forever. I love you, Loki. Return soon.”

_____________________________

“It’s been three weeks, Loki. How long must you keep me worrying?”

_____________________________

“Hello, Frigga? It is me, Thor. I was just curious as to if Loki has contacted you in the past few weeks? –No, he is all good and well, I was merely wondering. He misses you.”

_____________________________

“Three months, Loki. Will you ever return, Loki? Will you stray from me? Is that what you have desired, to be free from me? I’m sorry, Loki. I will quit encroaching upon you in such a manner. But you are always welcome, always.”

_____________________________

“It has been a year, now, Loki. Your room is exactly how you left it, it is ready for your return. I wonder if this is even your phone—have you gotten a new one? Has this one been long dead?  I miss you, Loki. Come back to me, I beg of you, please…”

_____________________________

It was a Thursday when there was a knock on the door, and Thor had long since then stopped getting hope that it was Loki. In the first few days and weeks, Thor had been fervently asking around campus, but he came up dry. No one had seen Loki, and only a few even knew of Loki.

The ones who did, though, were blindingly kind; Thor made a few friends, as they had all offered to help look for Loki. The redhead, Natasha, said she didn’t trust Loki one bit—for she knew of his misdeeds—but she did not hold it against him, his past, that is. She was the best at looking, because she accredited Loki as living, she accredited him as still in New York, even.

Bruce, who Thor learned had quite the temper, said he was doubtful of Loki being in the United States. Thor had told them a lot, he had even told them too much, but Thor was threadbare, he was out of options.

Steve was optimistic, he was hearty, and levelheaded. He and Tony clashed a bit—usually when Tony offered to heave large amounts of his wealth to help look. Thor always denied the offer, to Tony’s chagrin; Steve was always telling Tony that money couldn’t fix everything. Thor even assumed that Steve and Tony were enemies, or “frenemeies”, something along those lines. But Natasha shook her head and said that they were secretly in love with each other, and that “they just needed to cut the shit and kiss already”. Well, Clint had said the last line, but it all blended in Thor’s mind—he could care less who loved who; Bruce had once muttered to him that he thought that Clint and Natasha should “cut the shit and kiss already”. But that was their love, not his; he had a mission he couldn’t fail, and sometimes, he thought that they didn’t quite understand. They were wonderful friends, they truly were, but none of them had known Loki. Thor cringed at the thought that perhaps, none of them would know him.

But when there was a knock on the door at 5:43 a.m. on a Thursday, a regular Thursday, Thor knew it was not one of his friends, it was not a solicitor, or someone who wished to inform him of the Bible.

Thor felt as if his feet couldn’t keep up with his head, and that he reached the door way earlier than he actually did. His heart was thumping, and his eyes were bleary with sleep but bright with hope; he outstretched his hand too early and grabbed at air, but quickly rectified his mistake, palm sweating and slipping on the doorknob.

He finally flung the door open, and he could hardly believe his eyes. It was Loki, it was Loki, it was Loki; Loki was back, Loki was alive, it was Loki. Thor didn’t trust his voice, but he stepped forwards and swept Loki in for a hug.

Thor tried to hide the sting in his eyes when he realized it was the first time Loki had ever hugged back. “Thank you, Loki,” was all he could manage, because it was Loki, it was Loki, he was _home_.

“Thank you for what, Thor?” He had _meant_ to trail that with ‘hhank you for making you miserable for a year?’ or ‘thank you for ruining your childhood?’, and thousands upon thousands of other things; even though he searched for bitterness, it would not part his lips.

Thor hugged tighter. “Thank you for coming back, Loki.”

“You are not angry that I left? You are not angry that I overreacted?”

“I am only angry that I did not notice, and that I was not respectful of your feelings,” Thor laughed, and it echoed in the silence. “and that I was foolish, so foolish, Loki.” The last words were ghosted on the curve of Loki’s ear, and they hung around his head like fog.

“Thor, I am not what you want.” Loki cursed himself for denying this, but Thor couldn’t be in his right mind, he simply couldn’t be; nothing Loki ever wished was granted. “I am not what you need.”

“Loki,” he said, voice rumbling on the curve of his neck. “tell me, would I be mistaken to say you wanted this too?”

“No,” he croaked, melting into Thor, into the embrace. He melted into everything, he melted into the thought that he could be loved like this, that Thor could love him like this.

And then Thor traced his tongue on his lower lip, and Loki’s mouth curled into a slick smile. “Thor,” he began, hiding dark eyes behind dark lids and dark lashes; his hands snaked up the blond’s back, and his fingers curled around the locks of hair that wafted at Thor’s neck. “Not here. Take me somewhere you never took the girl, make me different, Thor. Make me yours.”

“I will try to grant your every wish,” Thor breathed heavily; his eyes were lucid and his brows hung low, and Loki thought that perhaps this was how he looked at the girl—then he thought, no, no. This look was his, and he’d make sure it always would be. “Tell me, Loki, exactly what you want.”

“Don’t be coy,” he drawled, shifting lightly as Thor hoisted him over to the couch. “You, better than anyone, should’ve known that I’ve always wanted you, Thor.”

At that, Thor smiled, but it wasn’t sultry, it wasn’t seductive, it was real and heartbreaking if nothing else. And then Thor’s eyes scanned Loki, outstretched on the couch with his brows raised and lips twitching; instantaneously, his smile shifted into something with more heat, more want, more thick-headed desire.

And then Thor was kissing him, so sudden, but warranted. His tongue slipped on his lips before he parted them gently, as if he had to savor it, as if it was a dream and everything was made of clouds—one foul slip, and you’d fall right down, down and down and down.

It had only taken him moments to realize that Thor was kissing every place that he had ever come home with a bruise. It had taken him even less time to realize that Thor had remembered, he remembered each spot, whether from when he was a child or from his rumbles that spawned recently.

“The pictures of you hurt never left my mind,” he said, breathing the words on Loki’s wrist; he could nearly see the blooms of purple-green again, he could almost feel them, but he didn’t. They were gone, they were gone, and they were gone forever. “But now, they will dissipate, because I’ll forever protect you.”

(But never gone.)

 

 

 


End file.
